


Canorous Intent

by ElizaDear



Category: Blue Revenge Trilogy - R. H. Daniels
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Protective Revenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 10:31:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10965423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizaDear/pseuds/ElizaDear
Summary: Instead of proceeding towards the site of the Lunar Last's final invasion as planned, Revenge finds Seafaring in the Bathai Wood.





	Canorous Intent

**Author's Note:**

> I felt that Seafaring's abilities were criminally underutilized in the penultimate confrontation with the Scientist, and that perhaps if she had been present in the Wood beforehand, her relationship with Revenge would have turned out differently.
> 
> I present to you a short introduction for what I hope to be a long and distinctive contribution to the honorable Revenge/Seafaring fanbase.

The Bathai Wood extends into an ersatz infinity. The lush, pointed apexes of evergreens dip and rise over the distant hills, reaching desperately towards the triumphant colors of splendorous sunset. Seen between trees, the horizon is a painful paradox: the further Revenge walks the smaller, it seems, that distance should become. Yet the distance remains, like a slow arrow fired from the quiver of a god named Zeno. A tragically asymptotic journey.

_Truly, motion is an illusion. I will never leave this place._

From the top of a cliff she strains her senses for signs of life, but alas: not even the birds of the air put forth music this close to the Cold Scientist’s erstwhile domain.

She can see the remains of the laboratory behind her, now: the sphere rises over the trees like a variegated soap bubble, nearly brushing the tops of the firs. If one looks closely one can see the machinery inside the deceptive floating wonder. If one has eagle eyes, one can see the places where Revenge and Connor have performed their sabotage. Dirty smoke mingles with the rainbow-splattered surface. The lab will sink to the earth’s humble surface in a matter of days.

_Connor…_

She wonders where the childish man is now. She had been loath to leave him in the antagonistic wilderness, but he hadn’t understood the dire seriousness of the quest on which she must embark. What honor Connor has in combat is tainted with an inherent naiveté that Revenge has found impossible to dispel. At times she struggles to view her loyal friend as a true peer. 

Yes, Revenge desires more in a companion. She desires an equal.

She mentally wishes Connor well and restarts her perambulation. 

She takes several steps before noticing a glimpse of cornflower blue between the trees, halfway down the steep hill before her.

Instantly on guard, Revenge draws her weapons: a pistol and an energy beam, one for each well-accustomed hand. She moves forward lithely, leaping from stone to stone on her way down the cliff face. An outsider may have been startled to see an orc move in the matter of which Revenge is capable: she maneuvers as a shadow, passing fluidly and adroitly out of the arbor-speckled light.

Then, asudden, she hears a familiar cold-but-melodious voice: “Who’s there?”

Revenge freezes. She knows not why her limbs feel as ice; she has faced worse opponents than her alien sometimes-rival Seafaring, after all.

What is Seafaring doing in the wood? She should be studying with her cohort at the Mirror Monk University and completing her apprenticeship, Revenge thinks with an unfamiliar concern. Have her celestial studies been interrupted? How will the brunette alien prove adequate competition in their next scuffle over the missing Cerulean Orbs if she is unable to become stronger alongside Revenge?

Her thoughts are interrupted by Seafaring’s dark-humored articulation: “It’s you, isn’t it?” she asks with sudden, inescapable wisdom. “Revenge. I should have known.” 

And Revenge finds herself loath to hear any loathing in the elocution. 

“Are you injured?” she finds herself asking. Seafaring’s figure has not moved. Revenge’s sharp eyes trail the bright, flowing blue of her robes.

A silence follows, marred by no trilling of birds.

Revenge understands. She is, after all, equally afflicted with the incurable condition of pride.

Finally, Seafaring acknowledges, utterly sedate and slightly haughty: “I am. I’ve been attacked by the Cold Scientist’s machines, the greatest of which has pierced my side with its vile drilling tendons. I am soaked in my own vitality. Ere long I will die.”

A foreign stillness closes up Revenge’s world.


End file.
